


Thread

by Chaos_Elemental



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Sea Shanty II, because it's been an insane year yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_Elemental/pseuds/Chaos_Elemental
Summary: Teiran's shirt is torn. Cyrisus offers to repair it.
Relationships: World Guardian/Cyrisus
Kudos: 3





	Thread

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so it's been a whole-ass year since I've written [A Hard Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22702537/chapters/54259267%22) and came crashing back into the Runescape fandom like the loon I am. It's been a wild ride, y'all, and thank you for being here with me for it. 
> 
> Here's some fluff.

“Your shirt’s torn.”

“Mmm?” She pulled away, as she felt his thumb trace over the rip in the shoulder of her tunic. “Oh, that. Yeah, I think it was when I was hauling larupia furs to the GE.”

Teiran probably should have changed before she got to Lumbridge. But she was in a hurry, and she hated to keep him waiting. And, after all, she reflected, Cyrisus had seen her with far more exposed skin than this.

“I probably should’ve minded the spikes a bit better,” she continued. “I’ll get it to a tailor at some point.”

“I can repair it,” he said, inspecting the rip. “It shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes.”

“You can sew?”

He nodded. “I picked it up when I was a pi— er, sailor. Everyone needed to be able to repair the nets and the sails. And when you wore the same shirt every day for three months at sea, you got quite good with a needle.”

“Oh.” It was funny, the new depths she discovered about him nearly every time they spent together. It’d been, what, a month now? And yet he managed to surprise her. “Ok, I can drop it off…”

“I can do it now. Like I said, it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes. And my house is only a teleport away.”

There was that look in his eyes again. That unabashed honesty. Usually a fellow inviting a woman to his house for shirt-removal-related activities would have Implications, but there were none there. At least, beyond the implication that she’d have a fixed shirt at the end of all this.

And it wasn’t like she  _ minded _ those Implications, in any case. 

She took his hand, rough and familiar. “Let’s be off, then.”

They landed in the garden, the marble fountain burbling away. He led her to the living room, where she sat on the couch and waited while he fetched his kit. The house was quiet — Asmodeus was usually out shopping around that time, though Guthix only knew where in Gielinor a demon could buy groceries without inciting a crusade. She stared at the table in front of her, noting the faint wine stains still remaining.

Cyrisus returned, kit in hand, and with a shirt of his own tucked under his arm.

“It’ll be a bit big, I’m afraid,” he said, handing it to her. “But I’ll need your shirt to be inside out to repair it.”

He turned his back as she pulled the garment off. It seemed illogical, considering everything they’d been through. But that was how he was, and it was endearing in that way. 

“All set,” she said, when she’d covered herself again. He took the torn tunic and, retrieving a needle and thread, began to sew.

She hugged her knees and watched him. It was fascinating to watch him work; he was fiercely concentrated, his fingers moving with surprising dexterity as he maneuvered the needle. Under his breath, she could faintly hear him humming some nameless sea shanty. He told her about it, at one point. It was some song about a whaler getting revenge, though she couldn’t remember the lyrics. It was peaceful, though, hearing him.

“All set,” he said, several minutes later. She took the cloth and inspected where the tear had been. It was barely visible now, only detectable if you were looking — just a faint seam in the fabric.

“Thank you,” she said. “You did a lovely job.”

“It was no trouble,” he said. “You pick up on things after awhile.”

She began to take off her borrowed shirt, and he turned away, starting to blush; however, she stopped him, pulling him towards her by the shoulders.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “Really.”

“I know. But, um, I figured, I’d, er, be polite…”

“Oh, hush.” She kissed him, and he returned it, his hands slowly curling around her waist, smoothing over her skin with their roughness.

“You should probably take your kit upstairs,” she said, when they broke away. “Wouldn’t do to leave it lying around.”

“Mmm.” He kissed her again. “I should.”

“Shall I go with you?”

She grinned. “Yes.”

He grabbed the box, and they both made their way upstairs, leaving the repaired shirt on the couch where it lay. 


End file.
